


Steve "Fight Me" Rogers

by a_splash_of_stucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (technically) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bar fights, Canon Disabled Character, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Morosexual Bucky Barnes, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, feisty Steve, guys making unwanted sexual advances, smol steve, that deserves a warning in and of itself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: If Steve sees a situation pointed south, he can’t ignore it. Sometimes, Bucky wishes he could.





	Steve "Fight Me" Rogers

**Author's Note:**

> This is me expressing my love for smol and feisty Steeb + morosexual Bucky Barnes, aka one of the best Stucky combos to ever exist. This fic was inspired by these posts [[1]](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/167551314950/fireflyca-buckysexual/) [[2]](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/174442344801/steve-rogers-a-bi-legend-and-a-dramatic-btch/) [[3]](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/172650351256/morosexual-bucky-barnes/)
> 
> This fic was written for a writing challenge, and the prompts are in bold.

The bar is barely half-full when Steve pulls open the door. With a wave of his hand, he gestures for Sharon to step inside.   **  
**

“Thank you,” she says, as she brushes past him.

“No matter what people say, chivalry ain’t dead,” says Steve, as he lets the door fall shut behind them. He shrugs off his coat and drapes it over his arm as he scans the room.

There is a low, pleasant hum of chatter in the background, disturbed only by the occasional burst of laughter. Steve fiddles with his hearing aids absentmindedly. He likes this bar in particular because even on a busy night, he’s never had a problem hearing anyone. It’s not loud enough to give him a headache and there’s enough light for him to be able to lip-read without much difficulty, if the need arises.

“You’ve probably got enough chivalry in you to make up for the whole state,” Sharon says, hip-checking him affectionately. She’s still wearing the dark grey shift dress that she wore to work, but has changed out of her heels into a pair of black flats, and has pulled her hair into a messy bun.

“Sam says I’ve got enough for the whole country,” Steve replies.

He spots his friends sitting around a table near the back of the room. He taps Sharon on the elbow and jerks his head in their direction, silently asking her to follow him. Together, they weave their way through the closely-packed tables. Clint, Natasha and Sam look to be engaged in a deep discussion, whilst Bucky is watching them with an amused smile on his lips; none of them seem to have noticed Steve and Sharon.

Steve takes the opportunity to admire Bucky’s profile, which is bathed in the warm glow of the ceiling lights. His hair’s pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, showing off that devastatingly sharp jawline. He’s wearing a black, short-sleeved t-shirt and this, coupled with the fact that his arms are folded across his chest, draws attention to the glinting metal of his prosthesis.

Damn it, he’s not fucking doing anything and yet, Steve still feels a little weak in the knees. For the billionth time since they started dating, Steve feels profoundly grateful that his boyfriend looks as hot as he does.

“Hey guys!” Steve says, as they reach the table. Everyone turns around, curious expressions on their faces.

“Everyone, this is Sharon. Sharon, this is Bucky, Sam and Clint,” says Steve, gesturing to each person in turn. “And of course, you already know Nat.”

Everyone says their hellos and scoots their chairs along to make room for the two of them. Steve takes the seat on Bucky’s left, putting him between Bucky and Sam, whilst Sharon takes the seat directly opposite Steve, between Clint and Natasha. Bucky leans over to give Steve a wet, slobbery kiss on the ear.

“Hey!” Steve yelps, smacking Bucky’s shoulder indignantly. “What the hell — Bucky, you’re not a dog!”

“Of course I’m not, honey — we’ve been dating for two years, have you only just realised that?”

“Actually, I’d disagree with that,” Clint interjects.

“With what?” Steve asks, confused. “We have been dating for two years, Clint — or has your memory been failing you again?”

Clint snorts and flips him off, without missing a beat. “No, not that — I mean, I think Bucky is a dog,” he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Natasha rolls her eyes as she heaves an exasperated sigh. “A horny dog, I take it?”

“Yes!” Clint cries, “That’s exactly what I meant!”

Sam hums, lips pursing thoughtfully. “I mean…they call it puppy love for a reason, right?”

“Yep, that’s us,” Bucky agrees, slinging his arm over Steve’s shoulders, “A pair of horny, lovesick puppies.”

“Guys,” Steve whines, burying his head in his hands. When he peeks between his fingers to look at Sharon, he sees that she’s biting her lips to stifle her giggles.

I’m sorry, he mouths.

She shakes her head and waves him off. It’s okay, she replies.

“Hey, hey now,” Bucky says, his tone playfully scolding. “Let’s not embarrass Stevie in front of his new friend here, where’re your manners, guys?”

“Up your ass,” Clint snarks.

Bucky sighs, unimpressed. “Really, Barton?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Sam snorts. “Did you expect better? From this dude?”

“Hey!” Clint protests, “I will have you know that, unlike you, birdbrain, I am a comeback genius.”

Sam scoffs, unamused. He shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Clearly, you and I have different ideas of what a genius looks like.”

Clint schools his features into a solemn expression as he places his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Appearances can be deceiving, Samuel. It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

“Get outta here, man,” Sam laughs, playfully swatting Clint’s hand away.

Steve cringes internally as he curls against Bucky’s side.

“Sharon, you have my full permission to leave if you want to,” he says, wishing that the ground would swallow him whole, right now. “I swear, they’re not always like this.”

“No,” Bucky agrees, “We’re just like this most days of the week.”

“Bucky,” Steve groans exasperatedly.

“No, no, I like it!” Sharon says vehemently, fighting to keep the smile off her lips. “I mean, yeah, you guys are weird — uh, I mean that in the nicest way possible — but like, weird is good, right?”

“The best,” Natasha agrees, nodding her head.

“I haven’t had time to socialise outside of work since I moved here,” Sharon admits, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s…nice to have a change.”

“Where’d you move from?” Sam asks.

“LA,” Sharon replies, “I was working in a publishing firm there, too.”

Clint wrinkles his nose in disgust. “If we’re talking ‘bout weird people, then LA people are bat-shit crazy,” he mutters.

Sharon laughs. “Well, I can’t disagree with you on that one.”

Sharon cranes her neck around to glance at the bar. “I’m gonna go get a drink – can I get you guys anything?” she asks, looking around the table.

“No, I think we’re good,” Steve says, “I’m just gonna steal Bucky’s beer.”

Bucky snorts. “He means, ‘I’m just gonna steal the froth from Bucky’s beer’, but yeah, we’re good.”

Steve elbows him in the side for that.

“Okay then, be back in a sec.”

Sam claps Steve on the back once Sharon is about halfway across the room.

“Well, I’m glad to see that Sharon is actually a real person,” he says.

“Wait – for all you know, that girl could just be an actress Steve hired for the night,” Bucky points out.

“Jesus Christ, Buck,” Steve mutters, his voice a mixture of fondness and frustration. Bucky grins at him mischievously.

“No, but seriously, it’s good to see you making friends who aren’t us,” Nat tells him, leaning forward. “We were getting worried, Rogers.”

Steve blushes, ducking his head and staring at his fingers. “Ah, I’m not that bad guys, gimme some credit,” he says bashfully, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I know I’m not the most sociable person, but I do have some friends,” he adds, glancing around the table pointedly.

“Hell yeah, you do,” Clint says empathically.

Sam narrows his eyes. “I’m not sure if I would call us friends, Steve,” he says, “We’re more…I guess, ‘people who’re willing to put up with your shit.’”

“Willing and stupid enough,” says Bucky.  

“And patient,” Natasha adds.

Steve shakes his head, grinning to himself as his friends continue to tease him mercilessly. Their voices fade into the background as his gaze drifts over to the bar, where he spots Sharon’s blonde head amongst the crowd. She’s leaning against the counter, the left side of her face angled towards Steve. He frowns; her lips are twisted into a grimace.

Steve tries to discern the cause of that expression. Beside Sharon is a tall man with light brown hair, his body turned towards hers. He’s wearing a leather jacket, a white t-shirt and dark wash jeans. From what Steve can see, the man has classic features, with a defined jawline and a perfectly straight nose. One side of his mouth is pulled up in a half-smirk and his upper body is leaning towards her, invading her space.

Sharon shakes her head and goes to turn away, but the man’s hand darts out to grab her wrist.

The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck bristle.

——

Steve has gone unusually quiet, Bucky realises. He hadn’t bothered to deliver a snarkish remark to Clint’s horrible Star Wars pun, which is a sure sign that something is troubling him. Bucky glances over at him, intending to draw him back into the conversation.

He is momentarily side-tracked by Steve’s appearance. Bucky’s been half-hard in his pants ever since he saw Steve from across the room, out of the corner of his eye. Steve’s wearing a pair of black jeans that hug his ass perfectly, paired with one of the light-blue button-downs that he loves wearing to work. He’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and popped open the top two buttons, giving Bucky a flash of his pale, strangely beautiful collarbones every time he turns his head.

Bucky’s jaw aches with the desire to mark him up.

He drags his gaze back to Steve’s face and realises that he is scowling in disapproval at something. His brows are drawn together and his lips are pressed in a thin line.

By following his line of sight, Bucky assumes that Steve must be watching Sharon, who is talking to a dude that looks like a wannabe Josh Duhamel.

Actually, she’s not talking to the dude — she is getting talked to by the dude.

Oh boy.

Bucky wholeheartedly believes that his special talent — besides being able to eat ass like a champ — is the ability to tell when Steven Grant “Punk” Rogers is in danger, or in imminent danger. It’s a sixth sense that he’s honed over their years of friendship.

Right now, that sixth sense is tingling like mad in the back of his head. Bucky has half a mind to forcibly tie Steve to his chair, in order to prevent him from making a scene in one of the last bars that’ll let them in.

Steve growls quietly, fingers curling into tightly-clenched fists. “If he touches her one more time—” he grits out.

Bucky’s attention drifts back to the bar, his eyes landing on Sharon just as Duhamel-wannabe reaches out to stroke her cheek.

Oh boy.

Steve’s temper snaps. He stands up abruptly, pushing his chair back with an impatient shove. His expression is livid, eyes dark with anger and nostrils flaring aggressively.

“Steve, wait — Sharon’s got it covered—” Nat protests

“She said she didn’t want a drink from you!” Steve hollers, as he storms over to the bar.

“Not again,” Bucky groans. He slumps forward, his forehead landing on the table with a dull thunk. Chaos erupts not ten feet away from him, as Steve confronts Duhamel-wannabe.

Why did he have to go and fall in love with a righteous, self-sacrificing punk?

Someone shoves his shoulder, hard.

“Up, Barnes,” says Sam, “You better get in there before he busts a rib, or something.”

Bucky snorts. He pushes himself upright as he swipes his drink off the table. Bucky downs the rest of his beer in one gulp, slamming the glass back down with a little more force than necessary.

“Serve ‘im right if that did happen,” he mutters darkly.

“You and I both know that he ain’t gon’ learn anything, no matter how beat up he gets,” Sam sighs. “Your boy’s skull is thicker than a telephone book, I swear on my mama’s name.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Bucky grumbles, as he heaves himself out of his chair. He inhales deeply and squares his shoulders, preparing to dive head-first into battle to, once again, save his boyfriend’s ass. It’s not the first time he’s had to do it and, unfortunately for Bucky, it’s unlikely to be the last.

A part of him is really regretting his decision to fall head-over-heels in love with this scrawny, punk-ass kid.

As Bucky stalks up to the bar, he sees that Steve has positioned his body between Sharon and Duhamel-wannabe, creating a — rather pathetic — human shield. His cheeks are flushed a vivid shade of red and his lips are curled back in a mean snarl that is reminiscent of an angry, territorial dog. Duhamel-wannabe has his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his lips, like Steve’s a little kid that he’s humouring.

The two of them are starting to draw people’s attention. Other patrons in the bar are giving them interested glances as they whisper to their companions. Bucky elbows his way through a gaggle of college kids, fighting his way to the other side of the room in the hopes of getting to Steve before he throws himself at the guy.

Too late.

Just as Bucky is about to intervene, Steve pulls his left hand back and swings his fist in a wide arc, catching the guy on the chin. Duhamel-wannabe yelps and stumbles backwards, face twisted into a pained grimace.

Steve falls into a defensive position, widening his stance as he bends his knees and drops his weight lower. He holds his fists up in front of him, ready to lash out when the opportunity presents itself. A distant part of Bucky’s mind is secretly proud of Steve’s posture; he’s come a long way since his school-parking-lot-tussle days. The tendons in Steve’s neck are pulled taut and there’s a manic, slightly evil gleam in his eyes. He’s baring his teeth in a menacing grin.

If Bucky had to describe Steve “Fight Me” Rogers as an animal, at this very moment, he’d probably liken him to a cat. If Steve were a cat, he’d be one of those feral, satanic street cats, always yowling for a fight. He’d have clumps of fur missing from his side, a chewed-up ear and beady, calculating eyes. He’d be a tiny scrap of a thing, but would never back down from a fight.

It’s amazing, really; sure, Steve only comes up to the other man’s shoulder, but his presence is able to fill the entire room, powerful as it is.

Bucky feels his cock twitch with interest in his pants and sighs internally. For whatever strange reason, seeing Steve ready and raring for a fight always seems to make Bucky’s blood run a little hotter. It’s weirdly reflexive, at this point — seeing Steve riled up induces a similar response in little Bucky.

Steve and Duhamel-wannabe have drawn a small crowd, the nosy patrons forming a loose circle around them. Bucky watches as Steve darts forward, jabbing the man’s gut twice in quick succession. Duhamel-wannabe staggers back, groaning in pain.

As Steve seems to be coping on his own thus far, Bucky turns his focus to Sharon. He taps her shoulder to get her attention.

“You should probably go,” he says. “You can stay with Sam and the rest of ‘em, but Steve’s probably gonna get kicked out and—”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t wanna be caught in the crossfire,” Sharon agrees. Both of them wince as Duhamel-wannabe crashes into a bar stool and lets loose a pained howl. Sharon turns to Bucky, a half-smile on her lips.

“It was an…interesting evening,” she tells him. “The most excitement I’ve had in a while. Make sure he gets home safe.”

“Will do, ma’am,” Bucky says, shooting her a sloppy two-fingered salute as she makes her way back to their table.

Bucky takes another deep breath to calm his nerves. As he turns to watch the action, he sees Duhamel-wannabe take a swing at Steve. Thankfully, the punch misses its mark entirely as Steve dances away on nimble feet.

“Come back here, you sonofabitch!” Duhamel-wannabe screams, “Why’d you have to go an’ ruin my goddamn evenin’, huh? Why’d you have to go stickin’ that fat ugly beak a’ yours where it ain’t supposed to go?”

“THE LADY SAID SHE DIDN’T WANT A DRINK!” Steve roars, as if that explains everything.

Actually — to Steve, it probably does.

Duhamel-wannabe growls with rage. Without warning, he takes a step towards Steve and slams his head forward, his forehead smashing into Steve’s nose with an ugly cracking noise.

“Aw, Christ,” Bucky mutters.

—

Steve’s managed to bust his lip open in two places, and his right eye is turning a bright shade of purple. His knuckles are roughed-up and bloody, but at least he’s still in one piece.

After getting kicked out of the bar, Bucky had dragged Steve back home — literally. He is now parked on the kitchen counter, feet swinging listlessly as Bucky riffles through the kitchen cupboards for their first aid kit.

“How do we keep getting into these situations?” Steve wonders. He’s waiting with his hands clasped in his lap, eyes focused on the ground.

Bucky sighs heavily as he turns to face Steve, antiseptic, cotton swabs and band-aids in hand.

“Man, eleven years of friendship and I still don’t know,” he replies. Steve snorts.

“Actually, scrap that, I do know why,” Bucky says, as he comes over and stands between Steve’s spread legs. “It’s because you’re the human equivalent of a feral kitten.”

Steve sputters indignantly. “What–why am I a kitten? They’re like, the least vicious animals on—”

“Have you seen an angry kitten?” Bucky counters, “Those things are terrifying—”

“I’m more of a raging chihuahua, if you had to compare to a small, angry animal,” Steve muses thoughtfully.

Bucky scoffs. “Oh yeah, because chihuahuas are that much better than kittens.”

“They are,” Steve agrees, nodding sagely. “I suggested the comparison, therefore that comparison is the better one.”

“Fuckin’ punk,” Bucky grumbles, as he starts cleaning up Steve’s cuts.

“Jerk.”

A silence falls over them as Bucky pours his concentration into treating Steve’s wounds. The cuts on his lip aren’t the deep and have stopped bleeding by now, so it’s just a case of wiping away the crusted blood. His knuckles are red and raw, but they’re not looking too bad, either, once the blood has been cleaned off. Bucky wraps a band-aid around the ones that look especially nasty.

“Stop fucking mother-henning me, Barnes,” Steve snaps, when Bucky takes a little too long checking over his fingers. “M’fine, it ain’t even that bad, c’mon.”

“Stay still,” Bucky admonishes, ignoring Steve’s protests. “You’re hurt, lemme take care of you.”

“Hurry the fuck up, then,” Steve grumbles, wincing in pain as Bucky swipes antiseptic over a particularly deep cut on his finger. “I don’t need you to patch me up, Buck.”

“‘Cause you’re so good at taking care of yourself, huh?” Bucky retorts. “I swear, all I wanted was a nice evening out with my pals, but no, little Stevie Rogers needed to go around with his big beak sniffing out fights, hmm?”

“He was askin’ for it,” Steve grumbles, contrite. He lapses into silence, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt restlessly. Bucky chooses to ignore him for a bit, as he packs away the first aid equipment.

“Did I really ruin your evening?” he asks, voice small and timid.

“Whaddaya think?” Bucky mutters.

He immediately realises that it’s the wrong thing to say, before the words even finish leaving his mouth. He sees the way Steve is curling in on himself, his shoulders creeping up to his ears and body attempting to curl up into a defensive ball.

“Aw, Stevie, don’t be like that,” Bucky says, voice softening. He tentatively steps back into Steve’s space, arms coming up to pull him into a hug. “M’only joking sweetheart, c’mon.”

“You’re an ass,” Steve mumbles, but his body folds into Bucky’s with no resistance.

“I am,” Bucky says, nodding in agreement. “In any case, I guess I gotta take some of the blame — it was my fault for suggestin’ we meet up in a bar. I should’a know you’d’ve found yourself a fight somehow.”

Steve sighs; Bucky can feel the rise and fall of his shoulders as he exhales.

“If I see a situation pointed south, I can’t ignore it,” Steve mumbles. “Sometimes I wish I could.”

Bucky snorts, unwinding his arms from Steve’s body as he steps back. He tucks his finger under Steve’s chin and tilts his head back, forcing their eyes to meet.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs. He raises one eyebrow, silently inviting Steve to challenge him.

Steve huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he breaks the eye contact. “No, I guess I don’t,” he admits. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

“S’okay,” Bucky sighs, leaning forward to press a kiss between Steve’s eyebrows. “I mean — well, y’know what I’m gonna say anyway, so there’s no point in me saying it. Let’s just go to bed, yeah?”

Steve nods his agreement. He slides off the counter and takes Bucky’s hand, allowing him to guide them to their bedroom.

Bucky doesn’t bother to turn on the lights, instead choosing to leave the door partially open, so that the light from the hallway spills into the room. He’s been in a state of semi-arousal for hours now, and being in their cosy, dimly-lit bedroom has rekindled the flames of desire in his groin. Bucky flashes Steve a playful grin over his shoulder as he tugs him over to the bed.

“Bucky, lemme go get changed first,” Steve protests, clearly not getting with the program.

“Stevie,” Bucky purrs. He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls Steve between his splayed thighs, sliding his hands up Steve’s biceps.

“Buck, c’mon,” Steve laughs, trying to wriggle free. “Let go.”

Bucky shakes his head no, humming under his breath as he loops his arms around Steve’s waist. He nuzzles his face into the centre of Steve’s chest, breathing in the scent of printer ink, sweat and Steve’s cologne.

“Bucky? What’re you—”

“Steve, I’m trying to be sweet on you, dumb-ass,” Bucky mumbles. “Shuddup and kiss me.”

Bucky cuts off Steve’s chance to retort by fisting his hands in Steve’s shirt, yanking him down as Bucky leans forward, crushing their lips together. The kiss is uncoordinated and clumsy, all tangled tongues and clacking teeth, but he’s smiling and his dick is hard and a rush of excitement is running through his body — it’s perfectly imperfect, as things tend to be in their relationship.

It takes some coordination, but Bucky somehow manages to scoot backwards without pulling their lips apart. Steve has to hover awkwardly over him, balancing on the tips of his toes, his hands braced on the bed beside Bucky’s shoulders.

“You’re so fuckin’ weird,” Steve mumbles, his lips brushing against Bucky’s with each word. “Why the fuck do you get hot watching—”

“Get on the goddamn bed and shuddup, m’tryna salvage my evenin’ over here, punk,” Bucky gripes, as his hands paw at Steve’s body, trying to haul him up the bed.

Steve bursts out laughing, eyes crinkling with fondness as he crawls up the bed.

“You still mad at me?” he asks.

“‘Course I am, this is angry make-up sex,” Bucky grumbles, sliding his hands up Steve’s back.

Steve bumps their noses together and plants a kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth. “Make-up sex, huh? Did you have something in mind, something you wanted me to–oof!”

Bucky flips them over so that he’s on top, caging Steve’s body with his larger one. “Jesus Christ, does that mouth a’ yours always gotta be flappin’?” he asks, as his impatient fingers make quick work of the buttons on Steve’s shirt. “Can’t you learn to shut up, for a sec?”

“Only if you make me,” Steve replies, his body shuddering underneath Bucky’s palms as he trails his hands down Steve’s belly. “Only if you — hah, oh, Bucky.”

Maybe this evening won’t go to waste after all.

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable version](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/176820550285/steve-fight-me-rogers/)


End file.
